QotD: What did you dream when you ate a spider while sleeping?

We were sitting at home, watching a game of Reality Jeopardy. “What is obfuscation?” shouted my husband. “What is rubbing the silk jammies of the elephant?”

Suddenly dismayed by the intensity of the program, I dashed to the bathroom to pluck my eyebrows. Pluck, pluck, pluck, and the soft downy hairs drifted to my cheek and chin. I swatted them off, crying out in dismay as I realized the bathroom door had disappeared, leaving nothing but smooth wall in its place. “Help!” I cried, choking in my desperation.

“What is dipsomania?” yelled my husband.

All was not lost. A narrow fissure had opened up between the sink and the toilet. I stuck a hand through. “Help! I’m here! Aaarrgghh!” A fit of coughing ensued. How would I ever fit through a two-inch space? Even as I heard my husband rummaging around in the kitchen implement drawer, my body was swelling to mammoth proportions.

He showed up with a grappling hook. “What is swallowing this now or being stuck forever?” he cried.

I spat and choked at the taste of metal. “I hate these shower curtains! They’re dank and dusty!” I wept, hoping I wasn’t doomed to viewing them forever.

“What is love ‘em or leave ‘em?” whispered my husband. I could hear his men clumping in through the kitchen door, probably leaving mud clods all over the floor.

I opened wide for the grappling hook, howling as it cut into the tender flesh of my throat.

“What is heaving and ho-ing?” cried my honey. “What is getting the lead out?”

My head was through the opening and I could see the brawny arms of my husband’s friends straining and pulling. Too late, too late. My body had turned into a gigantic balloon, trapped behind the too narrow slot. They were suddenly speaking German and I remembered just in time to belch. The hot air blasted them, but they were staunch men and true, former Nazi submarine captains all.

My deflated body slipped through and my honey gently disengaged the hook. “What does the average person eat twenty of in his or her lifetime?” he crooned.

“Average? You’re calling me average?” I coughed. “Swab the decks, me matey.”